When I was 11 or so, one night I slipped on a wet spot in our kitchen and went flying across the floor, smashing my mouth against the stove. The impact sheared my front tooth in half, and did not look good at all. My first visit to the dentist was to have it repaired, which was done by building it back up with ceramic. That first repair broke due to my biting down on a gummy bear, which really pissed the dentist off. That being fixed, all was well till one day in 1984, while I was visiting my sister in West Virginia, when I got the mother of all toothaches. Went to a dentist under emergency circumstances, found out that same tooth was abcessed, which meant that the dentist needed to drill a hole in it to relieve pressure and drain pus. That almost killed me, since he didn’t numb it. Because of that, I had to get a root canal. That was more uncomfortable then painful, because by this time, the tooth was about dead. A few years later, dentist says that tooth’s getting worn down, lets make a crown for it. That went off with no problem. Moved here to West Va, new dentist, crown fell off a few times, the tooth was rotting off, so now I have a bridge, which wasn’t too painful, despite having to have the teeth on each side of the offending tooth cut down. So far so good! The tooth had to be pulled, so it now holds a place of dishonor in an envelope on top of my dresser.
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